


Kindness of Strangers

by SerenAur



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Out of Body Experiences, Pre-Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenAur/pseuds/SerenAur
Summary: Percival Graves has an out of body experience that somehow temporarily binds him to Newt Scamander.  He witnesses some troubling as well as touching incidents.Brief not-too-graphic mention of sexual assault by original characters.





	Kindness of Strangers

Percival Graves, newly reinstated Director of MACUSA, strides towards the door of his office, trying not to look too much like he is fleeing from the scrutiny of his subordinates. The first weeks back after his involuntary _sabbatical_ he believes they’re referring to it as have not been bad as such. People have welcomed him back, told him how things have suffered without his capable presence (although truth be told how much could things have suffered given that nobody noticed ). No-one has stared too openly or expressed more concern than would be proper, for which he is quietly thankful.

But he feels it none the less. Is constantly tense with the awareness of the scrutiny he’s under. The talk they think he doesn’t hear. The new delicacy with which he is spoken to where previously there would have been a robust to-and-fro. It gives him a headache and makes him so angry he could spit. He keeps it all inside, keen not to do anything to get himself sent back to the healers, to continue to project nothing but capability and strength. It’s killing him.

As he nears his office door he becomes aware of the sound of voices from within. He stops short, outraged. What the hell is anyone doing in there in his absence? Who would even… The sounds change, becoming those of a scuffle. There is a cry. His new and now ever present anxiety spikes, heart and breathing quickening as he prepares to draw his wand. He takes another step, wand hand ready, only to stop short as the door flies open and a man carrying a suitcase comes barrelling out, head down.

The man collides heavily with Graves and bounces off, stumbling backwards with a gasp. “Sorry – ah – so sorry!” he mumbles, not looking up. Graves recognises him instantly.

“What the hell Scamander?” he barks, making the man shrink back further, gaze flicking briefly towards eye contact and then rapidly down again without achieving it.

“Oh! Director Graves, so sorry, there appears to have been something of a –ah- misunderstanding with your - um – colleagues…” he trails off looking like he might try to make a break for it before an outraged voice rings out from the office.

“Scamander you fucker get back in here and… shit” the sentence is cut off abruptly as Newt does indeed re-enter, but forcibly propelled by Director Graves.

“Swann, O’Leary” Graves says mildly, taking in the scene, not removing his hand from where it grips Scamander’s arm. He knows these two of old. Effective enough Aurors in their way, and their way is blunt. Tough. He scowls at the sight of them sprawled on the floor, ankles and wrists tangled in a web of sticky strands, near identical expressions of murderous anger on their faces.

“Director Graves sir!” Swann attempts. “This goddamned stuck-up limey bastard attacked us and…”

“And bested the both of you and made good his escape.” Graves finishes, tone unimpressed. He’s seething. Whatever the fuck this is he could do without it in his office.

“I wouldn’t say attacked as such” Scamander interjects softly. “It was merely…” Graves growls and uses his grip on the man’s arm to shove him away. 

“Enough!” he says loudly. His head is throbbing now and he needs them all gone. “Whatever reason you might all have for brawling in my office I am finding it hard to care. I suggest you all make yourselves scarce immediately and stay out of my way and away from each other for the rest of the day. On pain of a disciplinary hearing in front of the board. Understood?” Swann and O’Leary nod sullenly and Graves frees them from their bonds with a wave of his hand. “And you Mr Scamander” he continues, turning his attention to the younger man who clutches his case tightly. “After your all your recent troubles with creatures and permits I should have thought you’d be keen to keep your head down for a while.”

Scamander looks directly at him then and Graves feels a twinge of guilt. He should be grateful to this man, he is grateful, but gods he doesn’t make it easy on himself. He doesn’t even look upset or angry, just confused. He takes a step forward, eyes to the floor once more. “Ah, Director Graves…” he begins in that gentle voice as if he were approaching a wild beast. Which in a way he is, Graves allows. “There was something…I brought it…confiscated it from the Niffler in fact…”

Graves pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s too much. Too much noise and commotion and people in his quite, private office. “Out!” he bellows. “All of you. Enough!” 

Swann and O’Leary don’t hang about. They hustle up to Scamander and force him back towards the door, although he still seems to be trying to speak for some reason. “Director Graves please I need to…you mustn’t…” but he’s gone along with the other two and the door slams shut behind them. It’s spelled to lock itself.

Graves exhales and lowers himself stiffly to sit at his desk. He’s shaking, which annoys and disgusts him equally. He breathes deeply and concentrates on controlling himself. On not giving in to the part that just wants to curl up under the desk and sob. He clenches his fists and waits for it to pass, breathing, breathing, just breathing. Oddly enough the image that comes to him as he tries to calm himself is that of meeting Scamander for the first time. The man had shaken him warmly by the hand, smiled sweetly and said “It’s so good to finally meet you Director Graves” as if the last time he had seen Graves’ face hadn’t involved brutal torture. And when Graves had clutched his hand, speechless, for far longer than was acceptable, Scamander had merely leaned in slightly and whispered “Don’t worry, it will get easier.” 

Graves holds the memory of that soft voice and gentle contact in his mind now as he settles himself. As his mind clears, guilt moves over him. Perhaps he had been a little hasty in ejecting Scamander from his office like that. And what exactly had been going on between him and the other two men? Graves groans and opens his eyes. He needs to go after Scamander, but he’s just so tired.

It’s then that his eyes alight on an object on his desk. It’s a box, not large, dark polished wood and pearl inlay shining handsomely. Confiscated from the Niffler Grave thinks with an amused smile. He reaches for it but pauses just before he touches it. There’s a thrum of magic coming off the thing making his fingers tingle. He leans forward, interest piqued. There’s no markings to indicate where it’s come from or from whom it has been taken, just that prickle of contained energy. Without quite knowing what he’s doing Graves brushes the tips of his fingers over the top of the box. It immediately pops open and he freezes, feeling himself held fast in place but with no discomfort or fear. In fact he feels only a dreamlike calm, although there also is a lingering sense that a mistake may have been made at some point. But whether by him, Scamander, or other parties is unclear to him at present.

The detached calm he feels deepens. He feels…untethered, like he’s drifting free of his own body. He’s suddenly weightless, perspective changing so he’s somehow slightly higher, as if he has stood without any sense of having done so. There’s an impression of movement, although how is a mystery. He thinks about turning and finds himself looking back at his own body, which appears to be peacefully asleep in…his?...its? chair. The sensation of dreamlike calm persists. He feels no fear or discomfort, only a niggling sense of somehow being drawn away from his body and towards something else. He can’t tell what that is, but it is insistent, drawing him steadily backwards across his office. For a few seconds something peculiar happens to whatever is causing his sense of sight and he finds himself looking at the outside of his office door. “Ah” he thinks. “Right.” If he could laugh he would have done so at the sheer absurdity of the experience.

He thinks about turning again and now he’s facing away from the door and down a short corridor. He just catches a glimpse of Swann and O’Leary rounding the corner at the end, disappearing from view. The pull he is experiencing intensifies and he is drawn faster along the corridor and around that same corner until he catches up with the two men, who in fact are following just behind Scamander. His acceleration ceases and he is brought into step with the trio, observing them from quite a short distance.

Scamander is walking rapidly, head down, shoulders up. The other two men are so close they’re almost stepping on his heels. “You’d better run Scamander you bastard” O’Leary is saying in a low, threatening voice. “You think we’re gonna let that slide? Huh?” He grabs Scamander by the shoulder and shoves him against the wall, Swann moving in close to help keep him there. Scamander keeps his head turned to one side, not looking at either of them. “Please don’t touch me” he says in a clear, firm voice, making to move away.

“Ah-ah Scamander” scolds O’Leary, stepping in closer, pushing the younger man back against the wall. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not through with you yet.”

“He’s going to lock himself in his cupboard” sneers Swann. Graves knows exactly what he means. In the last few weeks, whenever he has been called on to spend time at MACUSA headquarters, Scamander has been observed to spend significant amounts of time locked in – not a cupboard but an unused room away from the busier areas. There has been speculation among the nosier MACUSA workers as to what he is getting up to in there. Graves had asked Tina Goldstein’s sister Queenie, who seems to have a sense for these kinds of things and also a closeness to Scamander himself. According to her; “Newt’s just real shy. He’s not used to being around so many people. Besides, he probably wants somewhere he can open his case up to check on everyone, you know?” Graves disapproves of the idea of illegal beasts being “checked on” in MACUSA premises, but he can respect a man’s privacy. Especially a man who has essentially saved his life. Seeing Scamander pinned down and mocked like this is causing feelings of anger to penetrate his state of calm.

“No he’s not, are you Scamander?” O’Leary leers, pressing himself ever closer to Scamander, who keeps his face averted, clutching his case defensively across his chest. “He’s staying right here to face the consequences of his actions. You’re going to make amends, aren’t you? Like a good boy.” O’Leary’s voice goes raspy as he speaks and he pushes his left hand roughly between Scamander’s legs. Swann licks his lips as he watches. Graves is outraged, horrified, but bodiless as he is he is powerless to do anything but observe. They’ll be out of a job by the morning he thinks, grimly.

Scamander gasps and tries to recoil, coming up hard against the wall behind him. Then things get confusing. Scamander gives a cry and throws his head back as if in pain. There’s a sudden crackling sound and Graves could swear he sees arcs of electricity like lightening moving across Scamander’s skin. O’Leary screams and leaps backwards, holding his hand out in front of him. It appears to be burnt. Swann hastily backs off too, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Fuck! What the fuck was that?” yells O’Leary, pain making him forget caution.

“I said please don’t touch me” Scamander tells him, looking at his face now. He pushes away from the wall and the two men step back to let him past with no resistance at all, although Graves can tell they’re both furious. _Fired_ he has time to think before he feels himself pulled after Scamander as he makes his escape. 

He is indeed heading towards his room, moving rapidly along the corridor, head down, muttering into his chest. With his wild hair he looks almost deranged and Graves feels thankful for the other man’s sake that they encounter no-one before reaching the door to Scamander’s sanctuary. 

Scamander disarms whatever wards he has in place on the room with a few quick wand motions and opens the door. Graves finds himself pulled into the room behind him, still seemingly with no volition on his own part. Scamander slams the door shut and sinks to his knees – another series of wand motions sealing and soundproofing the room. Graves briefly admires the rapid, silent spellwork until he notices how badly the man is trembling. There’s a chirping sound from Scamander’s direction that throws Graves for a moment. It sounds strangely like the grasshoppers he remembers hearing as a boy before he moved to the city. 

Scamander reaches a shaking hand into his breast pocket and brings out a small bundle of twigs which he holds up in front of his face. The twigs stand up and chirp rapidly and seemingly urgently at Scamander. Whatever part of Graves that is watching this is utterly baffled for a few seconds until he remembers exactly who it is he is watching. “Right. Creatures” he thinks. This is a Bowtruckle. They’ve been over this he’s sure, although the creature itself has been too shy to show itself in front of Graves, despite Scamander’s reassurances.

“Don’t worry Pickett they can’t follow us in here” sighs Scamander to his small companion. More chirping follows, as the creature shakes its limbs angrily. “I am sorry Pick. The human male is a particularly aggressive beast I’m afraid. Worse than most.” Pickett stops gesticulating and makes some quieter noises. Scamander sighs again and says sadly “No, not Jacob, you’re right. That’s why he’s special. Our friend.” Graves has read about this Jacob in the reports of the debacle in the subway that had led to Grindlewald’s unmasking. Enough to know he’d been Obliviated along with all the other Muggles.

Scamander is still shaking and trembling. He places the Bowtruckle gently on the floor then rests his head against the door as he attempts to remove his coat, arms tangling behind him. “Oh Pick” he breathes out. “It’s coming, I can feel it.” He succeeds in getting out of his coat and loosens his shirt collar. His breathing has become louder and faster. He turns and gathers up his coat, attempting to stand but only managing to stagger clumsily to the middle of the small room and fall to his knees again. Pickett scurries along behind him making concerned noises. Graves silently echoes the sentiment.

Scamander, face tense and pale, hastily folds his coat and places it on the floor. He lies down on his back with his head resting on the folded garment and turns to Pickett. “Stay back little one” he gasps “I don’t want to hurt you by mistake.” The Bowtruckle just has time to scurry back before Scamander’s body suddenly seizes into a violent spasm. His back arches off the floor and his head smacks back against the coat placed under it. His limbs begin to jerk and twitch in an alarmingly loose and uncontrolled manner. His jaw is tense and his eyes screwed tightly shut. He remains silent for the first few seconds, but then makes a low moaning noise in his throat. It’s only then that Graves realises that the other man is in agony. He wills himself to move closer, observing with greater care.

Graves is familiar with the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse, he has observed them first hand on a thankfully few occasions. This is similar in some respects - the pain, the spasms – but it has been over a month since Scamander went up against Grindlewald. The effects shouldn’t still be so severe. And again- there - the strange arcs of electricity moving across Scamander’s skin. That isn’t usual at all, not for Cruciatus, but Graves suspects it is linked with whatever is ailing the other man. Probably it is a result of other torture spells used by the dark wizard in conjunction with Cruciatus. It is a sign of the strength and cruelty of his attack that Scamander is still suffering so.

Scamander cries out again, a breathy, desperate sound that moves Graves deeply. He wishes he could touch the other man to comfort or reassure him that he is not alone. Tears are leaking from Scamander’s eyes as the fit seems to reach its climax. His spine lifts into a taut curve, even as he continues to shake uncontrollably. It is a disturbingly unnatural pose and Graves worries that it may be possible for him to swallow his own tongue. 

As Graves increasingly worries and curses his inability to offer any help or comfort, he begins to feel a tug on his incorporeal-self pulling him away from Scamander. Alarmed, he attempts to regain that state of dreamlike calm with which he had begun this experience. That would appear to be the key to remaining in this disembodied state as the unwanted force fades along with his distress.

Abruptly Scamander’s body goes limp and he collapses to the floor. Tears are still flowing freely from his closed eyes, although he makes no sound. His body is trembling but without the violence of the seizure. The little bowtruckle ventures nearer, cautiously, making soothing noises. After a while Scamander seems to relax slightly, enough to open his eyes and whisper “Oh Pickett, that was a bad one wasn’t it?” He remains completely still, not turning his head towards his companion. 

“I had thought things were improving. It’s been days since the last one…perhaps I need to reformulate the tincture…add more of the cramp bark…maybe valerian.” He trails off, closing his eyes again. “Still, not to worry, eh Pick? Worrying means you suffer twice and who wants that? I need to think of something pleasant instead, that’s the key.” He looks so tired and pale that Graves wonders how he intends to manage that, although the younger man does seem to have a habit of surprising him.

Pickett reaches Scamander’s shoulder and uses the fabric of his shirt to help him clamber up to stand on the man’s chest. He leans forward to lay gentle appendages on his friend’s face and chirrups at some length. Scamander huffs out an amused almost-laugh. “Thank you Pick” he says. “You’re a good friend to me. I’ll take you back into the case just as soon as I can move, I promise.” He tries to look down at the bowtruckle without raising his head and goes cross-eyed in the attempt. Pickett throws his little arms in the air in exasperation, then simply clambers up across Scamander’s face to nestle in his hair. Scamander manages a genuine chuckle at this, appearing to draw comfort and strength from his tiny companion. Graves feels rather privileged to be watching, albeit unknown to those watched. Despite his impatience with some of Scamander’s eccentricities his overriding impression of the man had always been one of gentle, self-contained strength. Since his imprisonment and release Graves has felt himself cast adrift, increasingly taking refuge in bitterness and anger. There’s something humbling about watching this man accept comfort and relief from his suffering from such a small, strange creature.

“I must think of something to say thank you to Queenie and Tina” Scamander says suddenly, his bright tone clearly intended to force his focus onto something positive. “They’ve been so good to me, to all of us and Queenie is so sad now without Jacob. I do feel responsible.” He’s still lying completely motionless on the floor. Graves wonders how much pain he may still be in.  
“Queenie was talking about ice-skating the other day” he continues. “That sounds tremendous, although it’s rather early in the season. I wonder if…of course there’d have to be all sorts of charms to keep it hidden, but I think…Yes! I could make our own little ice-rink in the park…the Central Park they call it. The spells wouldn’t be all that hard. What a surprise that would be for them…and hot dogs. They seem to like those.” He grimaces at the thought of the snack, but his plan seems otherwise to have given him strength. He gingerly stretches his limbs and slowly raises his upper body, propping himself on his elbows.

“And what about Mr Graves?” Scamander says suddenly. Graves himself is severely startled by the mention of his name. Why would Scamander be thinking about him now?  
“He needs something to cheer him up I think. He’s struggling, I can tell. I mean, I was only on my own with Grindlewald for a matter of minutes and look at the state of me. Think how bad it must have been for him as a prisoner for weeks.”

Graves feels somewhat uncomfortable at this assumption. In truth he remembers little of his captivity, the initial unpleasantness of his capture being overlaid by weeks of a hazy, semi-conscious state which little had interrupted. He’s not sure he deserves this level of concern.

“Do you think he’d like to come skating too?” Scamander asks. Pickett leans down from his hair and makes what to Graves sound like some sceptical noises. He agrees with the bowtruckle.  
“Well, I can ask anyway. Perhaps I could bring him a bag of pastries from Jacob’s bakery. I bet he has a sweet tooth and it would be a nice gesture. He’s been very good to us about all those tedious permits.” Scamander gives a beaming smile, quite lost in his sweet daydreams, pain seemingly fading in inverse proportion to his pleasure. Graves is slightly unnerved to find himself the focus of such thought, especially after what had happened in his office earlier. Scamander really is a puzzling man.

Scamander suddenly gasps and lifts himself to a more upright sitting position, knees bent to his chest. He looks slightly alarmed. “Oh! I hope Mr Graves is alright! I’d quite forgotten the device I left with him. I do hope he hasn’t opened it, I don’t really know what might happen and I doubt he’d approve whatever it is.”

Shakily he stands, gathering up his coat and struggling into it as he hobbles to the door. He’s talking to Pickett again, but it’s too faint for Graves to hear. In fact the whole scene is growing hazy and faint and he feels himself drawing away. He suspects he has reached the end of what the strange box on his desk has offered him, but finds he is now rather looking forward to thoughts of pastries and ice-skating. And pleasant, if somewhat unusual, company. 

He wonders what he will say to Scamander when he arrives at his office.

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting here! This may be a little rough and ready, but it took me so much longer to write than I was anticipating that I just wanted to get it out there.


End file.
